Monthly Archives: February 2012


Let me make sense for a sec…

Well I’m applying for this Breadloaf Writer’s Conference.  And even though I feel “eh” on applying rejection has been happening quite frequently for me.  This time last year I was to the point of not caring or wanting to write at all.  Contemplated a career change and having tackling my 3rd career in this life.

You see I’ve already been a grocer and now I’m a educator.  I’ll be 30 in a little over a year by the way.  At this time in my fathers life he would have an 8 year old that would almost be 9.  And I remember 3rd grade pretty clearly.  Crazy to think I’ve passed the age my pops was when he had capable children.

As for the writing sorry I got off track…This time last year Cave Canem put me on a wait list even though I was a returning fellow.  A close friend of mine had gotten the word he was in to return and sent his letter after me.  I blame Chicago USPS for this fully and at times like that don’t care how many post offices get closed.  They obviously aren’t functioning to their fullest potential.

Speaking of functioning…well let me stop.  I was gonna mention something about the railroads.  But I won’t.

So with getting wait listed and all the poetry journal rejections it was pretty disheartening.  I mean I’ve been writing for the better part of 18 years.  I’m pretty well practiced.  But it’s always good to see your work in print and out there in the world in some medium.

Which is odd since it’s all about the words and this Conference isn’t really a publication but in many ways I feel “eh” and many ways I actually care.  I think I can take rejection this time around.  Last year though I might have just found a nice hard spot on the floor to lie on for a while.  Don’t ask me what that means.  But at times mattresses and pillows feel to welcoming.  The floor just feels proper.

Keep in mind I don’t proof read anything I write here.  Not sure if it makes it feel more organic or shows how bad of a grammarian I am.

I was born and raised outside of Cleveland in a black area of a white city.  In other words I had a good public education.  I had some teachers who inadvertently and overtly supporting all the crazy short stories I did.

My 4th grade teacher gave me an award for creative writing at the end of the school year.  We never did any creative writing in class.  But it was known that I wrote crazy short stories.  And guess what…15 years later Columbia College Chicago awarded me a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. John Murillo said “you needa apply to Cave Canem”  James Shea said “you’re writing’s stronger when you break the narrative” Dr. Weinbrenner said “why are you in journalism you’re a English student.”  My moms said “that’s good you’re doing something with your life and not out in the street like some of these niggas around here.”

Speaking of niggas I think this photo speaks for itself. If not watch Dumbo.


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Posted by on February 19, 2012 in Uncategorized


Adopted Baby Elephant

I really don’t have nothing to say.  But I’m a writer so I suppose I always have something to say.  Sense doesn’t make sense so why try.  Why try to please.  I know what I was thinking when I wrote something.  Maybe my intentions.  Or maybe not.  Recently it’s the not.

(The following isn’t original so I can’t take credit for it)……..

The Importance of Commas: “I helped my Uncle Jack, off a horse.”  “I helped my Uncle Jack off a horse.”

But I feel a certain kind of way about commas.  I still do.  Gertrude might understand.

I have a class where they try to rationalize repetition for the sake of repetition.

Poetry Rule:  When using repetition is only works if the repeated word or phrase does something different each time it mentioned.

That’s not really a rule there is no guide book.  But I damn so nuff think it should be.

I have a class where they try to rationalize cliches.

Poetry Rule:  When using cliches. Don’t use cliches.

That’s not really a rule there is no guide book.  But I damn so nuff think it should be.

Random fact about me…I don’t like looking into mirrors.  There are no mirrors in my room nor in my place except for the bathroom and the one built into the wall in the dining room.  Yes a nigga got a dining room.

I remember those plastic runner rugs in people houses when I was a kid.  They never stayed down and if you weren’t careful you could easily fall.  Odd thing is I don’t ever remember anyone falling.  Everyone always knew.  Kind of how puppies know how to swim.  And people just know how to pleasure themselves.

Was that a leap.  Did I just do something lyrical.  Or was it just random and irrelevant. How                    about now:

  • I scraped the paint off your ceiling and pushed myself through the floor.  There’s something upside down in my head.  Open the palm and find doors with latches racoons can open.  Write a lyric about hands and cats drowning other animals in the river.

Was that a leap?  Did I just do something lyrical?  Or was it just punctuation I changed?

“Lodi Dodi we like to party we don’t cause trouble we don’t bother nobody.”

Today in my poetry class we discussed the poetic lyric leaping and rhythm in Claudia’s Don’t Let Me Be Lonely…M-E-T-H-O-D MAN.. and Wayne Carter’s “La La.”  Need an example…find the words on your own.  Read them.  Yes he mentions childhood characters.  Yes he uses the language of a child even.  Does it make sense. That’s right “sense” Ha…I wonder what Gertrude would say about this.


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Posted by on February 7, 2012 in Uncategorized